


Cat Rescue

by Writing-The-Impractical-Jokers (writingfanfic)



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, No Animal Death, The Animals Are Fine, The Beginning, animal injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 12:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13717341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-The-Impractical-Jokers
Summary: For the prompt: 'I was wondering if you'd want to come up with something (all your own thinking) and turn it into a Brian/ Male reader for me if you'd want to?'I always want to.





	Cat Rescue

You step out into your back yard, stretching in the early morning warmth, and let the sun soak through to your bones. You finally slept well. _Finally_. You feel so good - you’re out in your dressing gown at 8am, sure, but you feel _good_.

“ _Myow-r-r-r-r_.”

That doesn’t sound right. You blink, and heard the faint mewling, yowling cry again. That sounds like a cat in pain, and you don’t like that at all. Is that coming from your garden? You moved here a week ago, and haven’t had time to sort out the bottom of the garden yet, and you hope, a sickening feeling in your stomach, that no cat has fallen into something and can’t get out.

You make your way down, barefoot, and look at the mess - most of it is just garden-and-otherwise furniture that the person who owns the house you’re renting has thrown here. They’ve promised ‘it’ll go’ but you aren’t sure when - hopefully soon.

Hearing a faint mewl, you look around, and then look beneath an old, broken table. Two reflective eyes are staring back at you, and you gasp.

“Shh, shh…”

The cat, a cute black and white baby, is caught on something - some kind of wire, and you whisper soothingly as you reach towards them. They hiss, lashing out, and you recoil a little.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” You hold your hand out, keeping it still until the cat stops struggling, and then a little closer. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. You’re gonna be okay.”

The cat yowls again, but doesn’t lash out at you, and you grab the wire; its claws flash out again, but it doesn’t move. The wire seems to have cut it a little, and you bite your lip, before gently stroking its head. It mewls in distress again, and you gently try to loosen the wire, which has tightened around it.“Shh. It’s okay.” You manage to free it, and it doesn’t move - when it tries to put weight on its leg, the poor thing is visibly in pain, and you don’t see a collar. You gently try to pick it up, and when it doesn’t resist, you realise it may have been out there all night. “Poor thing. Okay…”

* * *

 

You go into the back garden, and sigh. the vet is going to check if the cat is chipped right after they sort her paw - you shake your head, and grab your phone, intent on calling your landlord to tell them what’s happened. Maybe they’ll shift all this shit now- you kneel down, looking at where the cat was, and pull out the wire, hoping to make it harmless to any wandering cats. It’s some kind of rudimentary fence which has been pulled out, bundled up and thrown down there. _Ugh_. But there’s something else in there - something red, with something metal on it - you reach in, wincing as the wire cuts your hand a little.

It’s a breakaway collar that apparently broke away on some of the fence.

 _Chessie Cat,_ you read aloud. There’s an address, and owner’s name - _B Quinn_.

That address is only a few streets over, you realise - since there’s no phone number and you don’t know if the vet will have called yet, you may as well go over there. Someone could be distraught knowing that their beloved cat is missing. You sigh, and turn back around. Petrol prices are high for the good Samaritan.

* * *

 

You wait outside the house nervously - it’s a nice place, clearly either the landlord or the family who live here have a bit of money - and when it opens, the guy is not who you expect. He’s… well, you think, your cheeks turning pink under your stubble - _why didn’t you shave?!_ \- hot. He’s chubby, and has a beard, and has very dark brown eyes, and a _Punisher_ shirt on. He’s incredibly familiar, actually, for some reason…

“Hey,” he says, confused, and you realise. _This is Brian Quinn! Oh my god, that cat was Chessie Cat, and this is Brian Quinn_ , _your… your massive crush, actually, oh **god** …_

“I,” you say, and realise your voice hasn’t sounded like this since you hit puberty. You clear your throat, and try again. “I, uh, think I took your cat to the vet.”

“Wait, you’ve seen Chessie?” he asks sharply. “What happened? Why’s she at the vet?” He sounds so worried, and you shake your head.

“Uh, she’s okay, her leg and paw are cut up a little. I woke up this morning and she was trapped in some stuff in my garden… uh, my name’s (Y/N).” You extend your hand, and he shakes it, looking at you in interest.

“Brian Quinn.” You nod, and he sighs. “Is she okay?”

“Absolutely. I took her, uh…” You outline where the vet is, and he shakes his head. The relief is visible - he clearly adores his cats just as much as he seems to on TV, and you realise that your crush has not abated simply because he’s standing in front of you IRL wearing sweatpants. “…I found her collar. It’d been torn off, or I’d have brought her to you. I’m sorry.” You hand over her collar, and he sighs.

“Yup. Christ, she’s an idiot…” He smiles at you, and you melt a little under the force of his gaze. “Well, it looks like I owe you a drink for savin’ my cat.” You hold your hand up, and realise as you do so that you are _turning down a drink with Brian Quinn_ \- even if he does obviously mean it as a platonic thing. _Can you reverse time and say yes?!_ you think in panic, and he laughs. “I insist. You like cats?”

“I do,” you say, eagerly, and then swallow. “I mean… of course.”

 “If you’d come with me and give me directions to the vet, I wouldn’t mind,” he says, and you pray to god you aren’t blushing hard. “And then we’ll go for a coffee.” He closes the door, and twirls his keys. “I owe you, (Y/N), thanks.”

* * *

 

…and that is the ‘How We Met’ story you get to tell your mutual friends, you smile, watching as he plays with your newest meowing addition to your family. Overall, not bad. Not bad at all.


End file.
